


Conscious

by Nestra



Series: Unconscious [2]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-04-21
Updated: 1999-04-21
Packaged: 2017-10-02 22:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nestra/pseuds/Nestra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Jim's turn to battle insomnia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conscious

Shit.

Shit, shit, _shit_.

I can't sleep. I hate not being able to sleep.

Sandburg, the little shit, is having no problem at all. I can hear him breathing, deep and steady. Kind of describes Sandburg himself, if you think about it. Deep and steady.

I could go make myself some of that tea he uses when he can't sleep, but with my luck he'd wake up. And then I'd have to admit that I actually like the stuff. He'd never let me live that down. He remembers everything. Well, everything except the fact that he should hang up wet towels and not let food petrify in the fridge.

Doesn't matter. The tea wouldn't help anyway.

I never would have tried that tea on my own, but Sandburg talked me into it one night. That's not really a surprise, considering how many things he's managed to talk me into over the past few years. "Give the nice monks your gun, Jim. You won't need it here." "Picture a dial in your mind, Jim." "Talk to your spirit guide, Jim."

"C'mon man, just trust me."

And I do. I trust him with everything.

I try not to think about that, though, because when I think about all the things he talks me into, it bothers me. I mean, I didn't know him at all when he barged into that hospital room, but when he gave me that card, I knew I had to go see this "Blair Sandburg." Yeah, my senses were messing me up, but that wasn't why I went. I went because he told me to.

It took me a while to realize that.

And then, I arrived at his office, that hole in the pit of the bottom of the Anthro building. If it had been anyone else in there, I would have left immediately. But I didn't, because he had the answers. I don't know how I knew it, I just did.

But he started spouting all this mumbo-jumbo to me, and I got spooked. I yelled, then I ran. And what happened? The kid saved my life. It's kind of hard to be a dick to someone who's just thrown himself under a garbage truck for you. I'm sure I could do it, of course. I've had a lot of practice at being a dick. But with Sandburg, it's just impossible. I may tease him, I may knock him around, I may yell at him about house rules. But I can count on one hand the number of times I've been really mad at him.

So he's a special person. I know that. I mean, it's pretty obvious. He's got more enthusiasm than a roomful of four-year-olds. He's completely thrown himself into helping me control this Sentinel thing. He'll stay on campus until midnight just to tutor a student who can't find any other time to meet with him. And he's smart. God, is he smart. I'm not stupid, despite appearances. I know I've got that big, lumbering cop thing going, but I do pretty well at Jeopardy. It does take some brains to solve a murder, you know. But Sandburg has the quickest mind of anyone I've ever met. It would be so easy for him to use that against me. He never does.

Maybe this is part of the reason I can't go to sleep. This stuff creeps up on me when I least expect it. I'm going through life just fine, solving cases, using my senses, watching the Jags, and co-existing with Sandburg. And then all these worries pop up out of nowhere. Well, not out of nowhere. They're always there, but it's like I become conscious of them, just for a night. And I know all hope of sleep is gone.

Instead, I lie here thinking about him. About us. About the life we live. Our life. Because that's what it is. It's our life. We're together all the time, between being roommates and him working with me on cases. It doesn't bother me, though. It never has, and that's weird. I lived with Carolyn, obviously, and there were times I just needed to get away from her, from her "needs" and her complaints and her love.

I never want to get away from Sandburg. Except when I realize that, and then I want to kick him out, or to just get in my truck and drive away from him. But I don't. And what keeps me from doing it is the look I'd see on his face. He'd look hurt and disappointed, and he'd look like he always knew it was coming. I've seen that look once, and I never want to see it again.

So I stay, and he stays, and we live together, work together, play together. I give into stuff because I know it makes him happy. I have the feeling that if Sandburg asked me to sell my soul, I'd do it. And I'd be glad for the opportunity. That's pretty sick.

You wanna know what else is sick? It's only in the darkest hours of the night that I can admit to myself that I think about him. How I think about him. And when I think about him.

Do I think about him? All the time.

How do I think about him? Like he's some unattainable blond that I've spotted across the room on the arm of a millionaire.

When do I think about him? When I'm jacking off. I don't mean to. I never mean to, and it shocks the hell out of me every time it happens. I just know that I'm almost there, my hand is moving, everything is slick and it feels good, and then Sandburg pops into my head, and that does it. I come, harder then I ever used to come with Carolyn. Harder than that pheromone-induced romp with Laura. Way harder than I'm comfortable with. But goddamn, it feels good.

Eventually, I admitted all this to myself. But that doesn't mean I want to live with it on a daily basis. It gets shoved down there with most of my memories of Peru and a few ugly incidents with my father. I'm sure Sandburg would give me a big lecture on how unhealthy that is. "Jim, you need to work this stuff out. You can't just ignore it, or it builds up, and one day...BOOM!"

Right, work it out. Fuck that. I am not ready to work this all out, to have him sit there with that earnest look on his face and explain to me that this is fine, really it is. I can hear him now. "It's just a natural extension of our working relationship...it's a form of male bonding...hey, lots of ancient cultures were completely okay with homosexual relationships..."

It's not fine. I'm not okay with it. I don't want to need him. I don't want to depend on him. Depending on someone makes you weak, makes you vulnerable.

Of course, it doesn't matter, because I do need him. I want him, all of him, everything that he'll give me. I want sex, love, commitment, the whole deal.

And most of all, I want to go to sleep, so I don't have to think about this anymore.


End file.
